Viscin
by CEA
Summary: Hermione and Severus find themselves thrown into an unexpected moment... mistletoe can do that to you.
1. Chapter 1

Christmastime. Without the slightest doubt, Severus's least favorite time of the year. It wasn't just the false cheer, the fake glow over everything which traditionally occurred in this horrid month… no, it was also the increased desire his students appeared to feel to make his life absolute hell.

For example, today his seventh year Gryffindor/Slytherin class appeared determined to somehow kill each other. Potter and Malfoy had already been sent from the classroom for attempting to blow up the other's cauldron. Weasley had left with Potter in a fit of pique. Pansy Parkinson, a generally intelligent but disorganized girl, had managed to completely screw her potion up without Malfoy there to passive-aggressively correct her mistakes. As for the rest of the class, they were exceedingly unfocused, as the last class before the Holidays always was. Hannah Abbott had been two seconds away from adding her chamomile several minutes early, which would have resulted in fewer idiots populating the world, but a whole lot of extra paperwork for Severus.

Thankfully, the period was drawing to a close. Most of the students had turned their potion in already, and were headed out the door. Only a few stragglers, and Granger, of course, remained. Granger was always the last to leave, whether the potion took little time or several hours of intense work. If it was a fairly simple potion, the girl had taken to experimenting, altering it slightly each time and wasting precious ingredients. She knew, of course, that he was aware of this, and had not yet stopped her, and for that, she never mentioned it to him or anyone else, but quietly worked at her own table. She did not seem to notice that he watched her closest of all, curious to see what the girl would come up with. While not nearly as brilliant as he had been at that age, she was the only student who provided work of any real interest to him. The previous week, she had added peppermint to a complex healing potion, just the slightest 100th of a teaspoon, and the effect had been to remove many of the symptoms present in the viscous medicine. Severus kept the potion in a cabinet under a stasis potion, with a note to speak to her once she had graduated. He certainly did not want to take the credit for the discovery himself.

The war had finally ended the previous summer, which gave Severus the leave to finally present the girl with the compliments and encouragement she deserved. It was still subtle; for all the brilliance she possessed, he couldn't quite bring himself to boost the girl's ego outright. The look on her face when she had received her first 'O' this year, however, had been reward enough for him. He'd been tired of awarding the best student he'd yet had less than perfect grades and giving them to idiot Slytherins for the sake of their families. Proud of his House though he was, he was less than fond of many of its occupants, and was reveling in the newfound freedom of expression.

Now it was just Zacharias Smith and Granger left. Severus frowned. Smith was usually one of the first people out the door, a step above his classmates. He couldn't fathom why the boy was still here. "Problems, Mr. Smith?" he vocalized, and the boy glanced up with a grin on his face.

"No, Professor. I believe I'm done here, actually." As he lifted his vial of potion, the boy's hand brushed an empty vial he'd left on the counter, and Severus sighed internally as he heard the crashing of glass. Smith looked dumbfounded as he stared at the mess.

"Put your vial on my desk, Mr. Smith. I'll clean up the glass."

He left his desk, walking around it so he could see the shattered shards clearly before carefully Evanesco-ing them. Glass was always a tricky substance. Smith returned to the table seconds later, gathering his things and mumbling an apology and, amusingly, "Happy Christmas," before exiting out the door.

He turned to find Granger leveling the latest potion into a vial, next to two other full ones. She glanced up at him as she corked up the bottle. "Done, sir."

"About time," he commented, though it lacked his usual vitriol. "To the desk, then. Put your other creations apart from the abominations of your classmates."

He walked back to his desk and sat down, happy only for the fact that he would soon be able to go back to his rooms and read comfortably, a glass of wine on the table next to his favorite chair. Or maybe that would be Firewhiskey. The only good thing about the Holidays was the time he was actually able to read and not worry about having papers and potions graded for the next day.

"Sir?"

Granger was facing away from him, her hands held out in front of her, pressing against thin air. He frowned. "Granger, what are you doing?"

"I can't move forward, Professor," she said, sounded slightly panicked. "There's a barrier of some sort."

He stood, walking swiftly around the desk and attempting to leave the small circle of area around it. He nearly fell backward two steps out. It felt as though pressurized air was pushing him back, encasing him in this bubble. He reached out, pressing his hand forward, and felt the same pressure pushing him back.

"Granger," he asked carefully, making sure not to betray his alarm, "did you touch anything?"

"I placed my vials on your desk, divided per your request," she responded, sounding more scared than he did. "What is this?"

He didn't answer, instead moving slowly around the vicinity of his desk. No matter where he was, he could not move more than two or so feet away from it without being forcefully pushed back. When he made the full circle, he felt a resigned weariness overtake him, and, full of trepidation, looked up. His entire body sagged as he did so. Granger, who was watching him uncertainly, looked up as well. Her eyes widened as she caught site of the small, green sprig. "_Mistletoe?"_

"This may not be news to you, Miss Granger," he said quietly, "but your classmate, Smith, can be quite the deviant."

"I was aware," she agreed, "but he's never pulled anything like this before, to my knowledge."

"No. This is new from him."

She chewed her lip, rendering the flesh a deep red color. "What do we do?"

He felt sick. A tight, twisted knot of dread had settled in his stomach. His voice belied nothing of this, however, when he calmly said, "I believe, Miss Granger, that we have to kiss."

Hermione Granger was not the sort of student to behave irrationally, or emotionally. She was a highly analytical person, and always had been. At this moment, however, she felt the same sickening ball of worry forming in her own body, and she clutched onto the desk for support. "Is there nothing else we can do?" she managed to say, and she berated herself for the noticeably high pitch of her voice.

"If I were outside this bubble, Miss Granger, there are many things I could do. As the case stands, however, we are decidedly inside it. We cannot cast anything outside the bubble, we are too far away to call for help, and my door locks when there is no incoming class. It is the holidays, this was my last class, and I don't particularly fancy standing in a bubble with you for all of December. That said, please believe me when I say that I have never kissed a student, have never wanted to kiss a student, and have no desire at the moment to change that."

She was chewing her lip again, in and out. Her eyes were strangely alight as she met his. "Perhaps," she said slowly, "on the cheek would suffice?"

"Perhaps," he agreed, praying to every God that it would. She stepped closer to him, and he tried to ignore the anger simmering inside him at the repulsed look on her face as she stood on her tiptoes, and tentatively brushed her cool lips against the pallor of his cheekbone. They look at each other for sheer milliseconds, before he reached a hand out, and pressed forward. Air pressed back insistently, and he sighed.

"No, Miss Granger. On the cheek will _not _suffice."

Hermione was not stupid. She'd seen the narrowing of his eyes, the look of unhappiness as he watched her face. She knew he did not desire her, and that he did not, in fact, even like her. She also knew, as she was sure anyone with a brain did, that Severus Snape was deeply, deeply insecure. She was warring with herself. She did not want to, in any way, appear eager to kiss him. To do so would anger him, disgust him, and lead him to believe things about her which were not true. On the other hand, to appear too revolted would hurt his already fragile pride, and make him believe things about _himself _which were similarly untrue. She did not hate her Professor, did not think lowly of him at all, and while he was not the most attractive man she had ever met, nor the most pleasant, he was not ugly, and was a far greater person than most she knew. She hadn't the slightest clue how to avoid both at once, however, and especially not with this strange situation which had been forced upon them.

"Perhaps," she reasoned again, "a relatively chaste kiss?"

He frowned, and she summoned what courage she had to lean forward and hastily press a clumsy and decidedly innocent kiss to his lips. He stumbled backwards from her, looking appalled, and she attempted to not feel hurt herself as she turned to the classroom and reached out. She nearly sobbed as her hand met a force of air.

"No," she whispered, hanging her head. "That did not work either."

Their eyes met again, and he seemed truly worried and unsettled now. "I suppose, then," he said, "there is only one thing left."

Tentatively, she stepped closer to him, until she was right in front of him. That was where she stopped. Like him, she had never imagined, nor desired, kissing a Professor. And yet here she was, out of options. She had little experience with kissing boys as was, and Professor Snape was no boy. Here in front of her was a man, full-blooded, filled with scathing comments and a presence of command. He could reduce a person to tears in a matter of seconds, had single-handedly provided the information which had won them the war, had more scars upon his body and soul than any single person had a right to… and she had to kiss him. Because of a bloody _plant_.

"We should probably make sure to do this right," she whispered tremulously. "A real kiss. I don't think either of us wants to do this twice."

He merely nodded. "You know neither of us must speak of this," he declared warningly. "If Mr. Smith spreads the news of what he has done, we must both claim to have seen it and rid ourselves of it before anything untoward occurred."

"Of course, sir," she said, having already come to that conclusion herself. Slowly, she reached up to grasp his collar, trying to mentally prepare herself.

He tried not to roll his eyes. The girl was clearly entirely inexperienced, and her false bravado was wearing on him. With no warning, he snaked one arm around her waist to bring her flush against him, and, bending his head to hers, claimed her mouth.

Both parties nearly sprang apart at the immediate spark. It flowed from his lips to hers, setting both alight in sudden recognition. She gasped with its power, and in the grip of a chemical reaction, he took the opportunity to plunder her mouth further, causing her body to sag against his as she grasped at his robes. He ceased thinking temporarily, his body only aware of the immense satisfaction it received from kissing Hermione Granger, and the way his soul felt momentarily at peace. She, who had only experienced clumsy kisses with too-eager boys like Ron and Viktor, was shocked and curious at the electricity flowing between her body and his. Hermione pressed herself closer, wanting desperately to feel more of him. In response, he pressed back against the desk, pulling her weight atop him as he stroked within her mouth. The kisses he had experienced with whores and the impure girls of his various orders had never prepared him for a moment like this, and all he knew was that he wanted _more_. His brain, however, had finally caught up with the pleasure flowing through his body, and with a cry he pushed her away, shocked and appalled at what had just transpired. She flew well past the two-foot radius, bracing herself against a desk and wincing.

Their eyes met, neither knowing how to react. She began to tremble as the pleasure her body had felt melted away, to be replaced almost entirely with dread at what he might say in regards to her rakish behavior. Never had she pressed herself against a- a _man _like that; never had she responded to a kiss with such brazen wantonness. She was entirely out of her league.

Severus's mind was racing. That had _not _gone as he had imagined, and a thousand different consequences flew by in a matter of seconds. She might mistake his momentary passion for something concrete. She might break her promise, due to the aforementioned momentary passion, and speak of his unexpected reaction. She might be utterly disgusted (that was likely). She might go to the Headmistress with tales of his lust. So on and so forth, he knew not what to say to eliminate all the possibilities. Even looking at her now… her eyes were still glazed, her mouth partly open and plump, her hair mussed. _Did I do that?_ He had no recollection of touching the bushy mess, and yet he knew he must have.

As the silence stretched, Hermione realized she could take no more of this awkwardness, and averted her eyes. "I'll go, now," she said, cursing herself for the tremulous quality of her voice. "I'll speak of this to no one. I promise." Relieved beyond measure, Severus only nodded. "Good bye, Professor."

Quickly gathering her things, she left. Severus waited until the door had shut and several seconds had passed before sinking inelegantly into his desk chair.

What the _fuck _had just happened?

* * *

It turned out that Zacharias Smith _had_, in fact, spread news of the deed. Hermione wasted no time in ruining his fun, coldly proclaiming to him at the dinner table that night that nothing had come of the immature attempt on her and the Professor's reputations, as they had diagnosed the issue before it came to fruition. His face had fallen, but that had been nothing in comparison to the dark fury in Professor Snape's eyes as he had calmly asked the boy to accompany him to Headmistress McGonagall's office. Smith had raised his chin in defiance, but later that night, when the rumors of various punishments had spread throughout the entire school, it was said that he was sorely disappointed to not have given the great bat his due, and to not be able to lay claim to a great prank in the history of the school. Hermione rather thought he overestimated how lasting an effect a simple kiss would have.

That said, the next morning, Hermione found herself deeply, deeply affected. She could not even look at Snape without experiencing a visceral reaction, remembering his hands on her body, in her hair, pressing her tightly to him as his mouth performed amazing things. She could no longer look at him and think _teacher_. Instead, a running mantra of _man man man man man_ raced around her brain, teasing her with its implications.

It was entirely possible she wanted to feel that again.

It was _more _than entirely possible. In fact, she couldn't even try to deny it. He had awakened a dormant part of her, something she'd never known was sleeping at all and yet, now, she knew, was such an intricate part of her. And she didn't want it to go away.

Still, she scolded herself mentally. It had been fewer than 24 hours since the incident, and as Ron and Harry chatted amicably as they ate their breakfasts, she prepared herself for the day. She simply had to go about her day, per usual. Christmas holiday was a day away, and then she would be at the Burrow, far away from him and able to, perhaps, put him out of her mind permanently. It was a momentary infatuation.

He probably had already forgotten.

* * *

Snape was going mad.

He had taken a long, cold shower after she had left, desperate to remove the feeling of her young body from his skin. It was no use. At dinner that night, she'd stood before Smith, the very essence of fiery calm. She'd stood to her full height, but had seemed yards taller, utterly beyond the boy.

She'd been absolutely magnificent. He would never have recognized so before, but with the taste of her still on his tongue he had failed to be unimpressed. As he marched the boy out of the Hall, he'd been terrifyingly aware of her presence.

He had not gone back, deciding it was smarter to eat alone, in his room. Away from her temptation.

He was completely ashamed of himself. Though self-hate had been part of his daily life since birth, he had rarely felt so miserable before. This girl was an icon of her youth, someone who had already changed the world for the better. She was a living, breathing symbol of everything that everyone he had spent his life hating had tried to wipe out. She was so pure, so smart, and he didn't deserve to be in her presence, let alone have these thoughts about her.

And Hermione Granger was his _student_. Whether or not she was of age wasn't even an issue; he had failed as an instructor. He was a terrible teacher; this he knew. He was petty, and unfair, and cruel. But never before had he lusted after a student.

Yes, he really hated himself this time.

And now, at breakfast, he couldn't take his eyes of her. Severus had valued his self-control more than any other aspect of himself. It was one thing he could take pride in. In this, he found he could not control himself, and the thought terrified him. Was he reduced this easily? Decades as a spy, and yet he could not even look at this girl.

He stood, ignoring his breakfast. He had no appetite anymore. With a swirl of his robes, he left, retreating again to the cold sanctity of his dungeon. She would not be there.

* * *

He was watching her.

Hermione realized it during lunch that afternoon. She'd intuitively looked up, as most people will when another's eyes are burning into them, to meet his gaze. She'd hidden her shock at his momentarily stricken expression, and had quickly turned back to Harry, her heart racing. What had caused him to look at her like that, and to react so guiltily when caught? Throughout the meal, she continued to feel that sensation. It was only when Ginny, always dependably over-aware of everything, had asked her why Snape was staring at her that she'd confirmed it. He was watching her.

_Why?_

Adrenaline thrumming through her, she threw caution to the wind. The food at Hogwarts had never been terribly nutritious when Dumbledore was Headmaster, but when McGonagall took over, many of the worst culprits – mostly desserts – had disappeared, to be replaced by a constant array of fresh fruits and vegetables. Taking care that her friends were otherwise occupied in their discussions, she reached forward to select a large, plump strawberry. Brazenly, she flicked her eyes to the table, meeting his gaze as she brought the fruit to her lips and took the flesh into her mouth, biting cleanly through. His eyes narrowed, and still she kept his gaze as she slowly chewed and swallowed, licking the juice off her lips.

He stood, abruptly. Even from where she sat, she heard the scrape and bang of his chair as it moved backwards quickly, and she saw Flitwick shoot him an irritated glance as Snape disappeared through a side door.

Hermione set the rest of the strawberry on her plate, and pulled her hand to her lap when she realized she was trembling. She took in a deep breath, a series of emotions passing through her in rapid succession.

He _wanted _her.

Hermione was no fool. She recognized the look in his eyes, having seen it pass between people before, though never at _her_. She was utterly confident in her realization. What she didn't know was what to _do _about it.

She tried to slow her thoughts, to think through this rationally (stupid, her heart protested; this sort of thing was already all sorts of _not rational). _He wanted her. She could start there. This presented a problem, of course. He was her teacher, and it was very much against the rules for him to look at her the way he just had been. That said, it was already there, and she could do nothing about _that_. What she could control is how she reacted to it. So what would she do? She couldn't ignore it; he was brilliant, and undoubtedly knew what her little show had been for. In fact, she realized with a mental groan, he probably was angry as hell. Most likely, knowing his personality, he believed she was making fun of him for sinister reasons, and because they were both perfectly aware of the situation, she would have to explain what she'd intended at some point, probably soon.

So what had she intended? Why had she done that?

Her stomach sank as she confronted the truth. _I want him too_. It was obvious, really. It had been all she'd thought about for 24 hours. She was terrified, but at the same time, she felt a thrill. _I want him, and he wants me_. Certainly a new position for her.

Of course, there were still all the ethical issues standing before her. But as she thought of those, she sat up straighter, suddenly resolved. She didn't really care. Yes, he was her teacher, and this was morally wrong, but she'd gone through hell already, and he'd been through worse. She wanted him, and he wanted her.

Simple, really.

* * *

Severus Snape was _not amused_.

The chit was goading him, making a spectacle of them in public. His mouth had gone dry as she'd placed the scarlet fruit against those lips, and he'd felt nothing but anger and intense frustration as his cock had stirred to life as the juice had run free from her delicate bite. When her tongue had appeared to lick it away, he'd reacted without thinking, his body naturally responding to fight-or-flight. He'd flown, straight down to his sanctuary in his private rooms beyond his classroom. He'd shut the door behind him, headed straight for the bathroom. With the water on freezing and full blast, he stepped into the shower.

Several minutes later, he sat on the edge of his bed, glaring darkly into the cold fireplace. He had no idea why she'd done that. It was out of character for her. Hermione Granger was not sexual. Yes, that kiss had been bloody fantastic, but she'd been noticeably inexperienced. Severus knew she barely ever left the library, and when she did she was likely studying elsewhere or getting into large amounts of trouble. Of the non-sexual variety. Provoking her own teacher in public was hardly the norm for her. So why him, and why then?

She'd noticed him watching her. That he knew now. Had she been testing him? And if so, what did his reaction mean to her? Unfortunately, he'd sent a pretty clear signal. What would she do now? The ball was entirely in her court.

Despairingly, he felt a small surge of hope that, despite all the reasons why it was a terrible decision, she would appear at his door. He quashed that, feeling sickened and depressed. He was not fit to be sitting here, at this establishment. Not anymore.

Minerva had positively begged him to come back, in her own austere way. She had insisted that there was a great teacher inside him, that he'd merely done what was necessary in the past, and that she believed in him. Despite his reservations, he'd agreed to return to Hogwarts, the only place that had ever been home. He'd prepared to start a new life.

He felt that crashing down around him now. He would not let it turn out this way. If he could lust after one student, it could happen again. And that meant he could not be here to allow that.

He would resign. It was easy. He would leave, become a Potioneer, and go far, far away from tempting succubi.

"Professor?"

Severus looked to his right, where the black-armoured knight stood in his portrait. "Yes, Edward?"

"There is a student here to see you."

Cold trickled down his spine. He swallowed thickly. "Who is it?"

Edward's brows furrowed. "I do not know the names of your students, but she is from Gryffindor House. Her hair is dreadful."

_Granger_. "Tell her I will be there momentarily. Do not come back into this room for the rest of the day. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir. On my way."

Snape stood, fighting the urge to glance in a mirror. He felt, once again, irritated at himself for ordering the knight away. What did he imagine would happen? And was he actually _nervous _to go talk to the girl? Ignoring the feeling, and berating himself for being a weakling, he gracefully exited his quarters and made his way to the classroom.

She was standing in the front of the classroom, and as he slipped through his office door, she met his gaze, her face absolutely serious. He walked to his desk, standing behind it, acutely aware that he was placing a barrier between them. She seemed to realize this as well, looking at it momentarily before looking up to him again. "I wanted to speak to you, Professor."

He avoided swallowing again, remaining implacable. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

Severus and Hermione stared at one another for a tense moment, as he worried about what she would say, and she ran through her options. Then, as the silence built around them, she reached up, and pulled her hairclip out, setting it on the desk between them. He felt a pang of confusion, until she shook the mess out, meeting his gaze calmly as she shrugged out of her outer robe, setting it on the table behind her. As she slowly reached up to undo the first button on her white blouse, alarm bells sounded in his brain.

"What do you think you are doing, Miss Granger?"

She undid the second button, smiling nervously. "I'm seducing you."

_She wanted him_. Of the many scenarios he'd envisioned, this one, the one he'd forced to the back of his mind, had seemed the least likely, and yet here she was, undressing in front of him. He was in danger.

"Miss Granger, what in the world would possibly lead you to believe I wanted to be seduced by you?"

She paused, cocking her head, frowning. "You're smarter than that, Professor."

He felt a stab of irritation. "Perhaps I am not as smart as you've been lead to believe. The question still stands."

Hermione was still frowning. "You want me," she said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. He marveled at her confidence. Where had the insecure chit he had always known gone? _Probably disappeared around the time half her classmates were killed and her best friend nearly murdered before her eyes_, he thought morbidly.

"A falsehood. I cannot fathom how you came to such a conclusion."

She had stopped frowning and, to his relief, had stopped at the third button as well. "The past 24 hours have made it clear," she explained. "You already know this, but since you seem determined to deny it… you reacted to that kiss exactly as I did yesterday. You felt the spark, you kissed me harder. I would have left it at that… but you've been watching me."

"No, I have not."

"If you want to talk me out of this, Professor, then stop denying things I know are fact. You watched me all throughout lunch. You disappeared immediately after… after I-"

"After your decidedly wanton display? Indeed. I could not bear to see someone I had previously thought to be at least moderately intelligent betray her own stupidity so blatantly. Tell me, Miss Granger, where did you learn such clumsy arts? The local whorehouse?"

She laughed. He couldn't believe it, but laugh she did, loudly. "You really don't change, do you?" she asked, eyes merry. "Even after that kiss, even after a moment of such intimacy as this afternoon. Your insults are as sharp as ever, Professor, believe me. I simply cannot believe you anymore." Hermione hoped he didn't notice how her hands trembled slightly as she continued to unbutton her shirt, more quickly this time. As she shrugged one shoulder out of it, he averted his eyes, breathing deeply.

"Miss Granger, I must ask you to leave."

"I can't, Professor."

He snorted. "Whyever not?"

"The mistletoe."

Snape couldn't help but roll his eyes. "The mistletoe was taken care of yesterday, Miss Granger. I believe you even alluded to the incident several seconds ago."

She grinned, and he felt a stab of panic. "Oh, Professor… I beg to differ."

Already knowing what he would find, he looked above his desk, and saw there the same plant which had started this whole mess, looking mockingly innocent. "You put it there."

"Yes. I knew you would react this way."

"Why would you do this?" he whispered, shoulders slumping resignedly.

"I already told you," she whispered, sitting on the edge of his desk, slipping the shirt off entirely. He tried not to stare at her lace-covered breasts as she swung her legs elegantly around, already free of shoes and socks, so that she sat on the edge of the desk, barely a foot in front of him. "I want you. And you want me."

"We cannot do this, Miss Granger," he stated matter-of-factly, and she sighed. "I am your teacher. It is wrong on every level. I am years older than you, I am an absolute bastard, I am a murderer and a deviant. I have done things you cannot imagine in your most terrible nightmares, and I have felt no guilt in doing them."

"Yes you have," she countered, looking angry. "Detail to me what you've done, if you must. Lay it all out, and see if my decision changes, but don't claim to be unaffected by it. Every step you've taken in the past 20 years puts the lie to that claim. If you hadn't felt guilty, we would never have won that war. And now that we have, I find that I simply don't care for such rules anymore. I am 18, Professor, and fully aware of what I am doing it. I choose _you_. Not because you are a nice person, because we both know you are not. Yesterday, I felt something I have never before experienced. I want that again, and I want it with _you_."

"You don't know what it is you ask," he warned, and she shook her head vehemently, stepping off the desk. He backed up, but that damned invisible _air shield _was there again, and instead he felt himself pressed against her luscious body, her lips merely inches from his.

"Yes I do," she breathed. "I am not an idiot, Professor. I know what this may lead to, and I embrace it."

"I will not do this."

"Fine," she whispered, staring at his lips. "But either way, you have to kiss me."

"Put your shirt on."

She smiled, shaking her head. Then, before he had time to react, the girl who, yesterday, had been unable to instigate anything, placed her hand on the back of his head and kissed him full on the mouth.

It was instantaneous. His body exploded with a sensation of _finally_, as he unconsciously pulled her tight into his arms. He lifted her onto the desk, and she wrapped her legs tight around him. He pressed himself against her, and she broke the kiss, moaning in a way that set his cock to stir.

Fuck it all. She was too smart for her own damn good, and she was entirely right. He wanted her. He wanted her desperately.

But not like this.

Cursing himself, he pulled away, and she made a frustrated sound of protest. He placed a finger on her lips, waiting until she'd met his eyes. "I do want you," he confessed. "Miss Granger-"

"After that confession, you cannot possibly keep calling me that," she interrupted, and he sighed.

"_Hermione_," he said, loving the way she smiled as the syllables slipped out his lips, "we have put ourselves in a tricky position."

"Yes, I-"

"Stop interrupting me, girl, and listen. We could both go down for this. Surely you realize that? We must be careful. More importantly, you must be sure."

She waited, and then said, quietly, "I _am _sure."

He walked away from her, around the desk to grasp her shirt. She swung back around the desk, and he stepped up to her, sliding the shirtsleeves up her arms and beginning to button it. "We will wait through this break," he told her, determinedly not looking at her face, where he knew disappointment shown. "When you come back, if you still want this, come see me. If you do not, I will not be angry with you, nor treat you differently."

She sighed, and gently grasped his frock coat, pulling him to her and resting her forehead against his. "I don't know how I can stand to wait so long."

_Me either_, he thought. He kissed her, then, sweetly, and she responded enthusiastically. As they parted, he ran a hand through her mass of hair, remembering again what it felt like. "Go, Hermione."

"I don't-"

"Go," he said more forcefully. "I'll still be here in January."

Hermione reached behind him to grasp her outer robe, shrugging into it and then smiling at him one last time, pressing a kiss to his forehead and whispering, "I'll be back," into his ear before walking around him and out the door.

Severus sat on the edge of the table, placing his head in his hands. He had probably just made a terrible mistake, done something truly awful.

And she was right. He felt guilty.

* * *

A/N: Because this is on this site, with its stupid rules about ratings, any sexy scenes will, of course, be relegated to significantly less-sexy counterparts. This story has not yet gone through a beta reader; I have not heard from anyone (understandably; it is Christmas), so, it will eventually be up on The Petulant Ppetess and Ashwinder; I will provide those links once it is. Until then, I would love it if any mistakes were nicely pointed out in reviews! And Happy Holidays to everyone. Reviews would be a very nice present ;) If anyone would like to beta read this fic, I would be more than happy. Please shoot me an e-mail. Thanks :)


	2. Chapter 2

"Harry wanted to set the date for this summer, but I told him I'd prefer to graduate first," Ginny told Hermione as they did the dishes together. "I feel bad, really. I know he's waited his whole life for a family, but I can't imagine spending my final year at Hogwarts _married_. And I'd hate to have to spend it apart from my husband every night, at that. I hope he's not too cross, though."

"He's seemed fine," Hermione said, wiping a dish dry and accepting the next. "He's still trying to grasp the fact that it's all over, though. It _is _strange, spending a year at Hogwarts knowing that Voldemort's gone and we're all fine. I think he's just waiting to get out of there and start his life anew."

"Well, he has a hard time being there without Dumbledore," Ginny confided quietly.

"I can't imagine," Hermione said. "But he has you."

"Hopefully, that will be enough," Ginny agreed.

It had been a little over a week since they had left for the holiday, with three days until Christmas, and, as always, everyone was gathered at the Burrow. Well, almost everyone. There was a sour air hanging over everything, knowing that so many people would not be joining them for the festivities. George and Bill had both perished in the battle, and Fleur had never gotten over the marriage-that-never-was. Fred made his appearances at the dinner table, but he was like a ghost. The smiles he bestowed never reached his eyes; his movements were unsure and unpracticed, as though he had barely moved more than necessary in the months since that fateful battle. Lupin disappeared when Tonks had died, occasionally sending a fatherly letter to Harry. No one had seen him since her funeral.

Many of her classmates had perished. It was weird to live in a room by herself at Hogwarts, knowing that she would never see Parvati or Lavender again. She had never gotten along with the girls, and yet, that first night, she had cried for hours and hours, eventually going outside to fall asleep in the common room. She had awoken in Ginny's bed the next morning, a warm cup of tea on the bedside. She had rarely been more thankful for the intuitive redhead.

Yes, life was indeed in a strange, suspended state. To go back to school was the weirdest thing of all, really. It was something that had been so _normal _for 6 years… and now its very normalcy was unsettling. She found herself escaping to the library more often than ever before, simply to get away from the forced cheerfulness and loudness of her peers. Her only escape was in the Arithmancy and Potions texts under her fingertips, the secrets and knowledge they possessed.

Potions…

_No. _She would not think about that right now. Not until after Christmas, when she would have all the time in the world to sit around and debate how she would go about returning to school with this new change upon her.

Besides, she sincerely doubted he was thinking of _her _much.

* * *

Severus was sick of her. To the death of him, he was sick of her.

He swore he could smell her everywhere. _Lavender_. Her hair had smelled of lavender. Of hope, of new beginnings. It filled his workspace, his office, places she hadn't even _been_. It was as if the promise of her had filled his senses to the brim, and he was overflowing with the knowledge of her. And it was driving him absolutely-bloody-fucking _mad_.

He woke in the night, after delicious, terrible dreams full of skin and lips and passion had invaded his sleep, hot and heavy with need for her and berating himself that, come January, she may very well choose to not ever be a part of his life. This whole thing was plaguing his admittedly delicate insecurities. Why _would _she choose to be? She was young, somewhat attractive, intelligent, and full of vivacious vitality. It made no sense that she would want _him_.

Of course, she had told him quite plainly that she did in a tone that brokered no argument. But that didn't stop him from _thinking_ about it all the time.

He'd gone to Spinner's End soon after the holiday had commenced, unable to stand the little reminders of her presence in the school, the conversations amongst the staff which always seemed to turn to their ingénue and her cohorts. And now he sat in his chair, a glass of wine next to him, Aramus's _Konas Theorum On Applied Arithmancy _open next to him, still thinking of her.

Severus was looking forward to the end of this blasted holiday. With two days to Christmas, he had a little under two weeks to worry about. The students would be back on January 4th.

Across from him, Molly Weasley's invitation to Christmas dinner openly mocked him.

He glared at the offending parcel. It was the first time he had been invited to such a gathering by someone other than Minerva in a number of years, and the letter positively dripped with warmth and adulation. He still wasn't used to this War Hero thing, and didn't think he liked it very much - especially not from someone like Molly Weasley.

The most irritating thing about it was that he knew Hermione would be there, aglow from the festivities, the light of the holidays in her eyes as she drank and made merry with her friends. Part of him _really, really _wanted to be there, to witness it and admire her in silence. Another part of him, the sensible part of him, sent warning bells ringing in his head. In such close quarters, and especially with the seemingly all-seeing Weasley chit there, it was likely that he – or, much mire likely, she – would accidentally reveal something. And while he cared not a whit what happened to his sorry life, hers was far too precious to be jeopardized by someone like him.

Dammit. Wine just wasn't going to cut it tonight.

He pulled himself up from his chair, wincing as his joints cracked and popped. The liqour cabinet was already open, and he selected a particularly fine whiskey, pouring himself a finger and downing it in one go, wincing once again as it burned down his throat.

Maybe vodka would be a better choice.

A knock sounded on his door, and Severus turned his head, looking at it with narrowed eyes. He stalked over to it. "Yes?"

"Severus?"

He froze, momentarily shocked, and then quickly flung it open. He controlled his surprise, looking the man before him up and down. He was filthy, and reeked of alcohol. Severus sighed mentally. "Remus. You'd best come in."

He turned, going past the liquor and into what barely counted as a kitchen to brew a strong cup of coffee. He heard Remus shut the door, and the scent of wet dog and alcohol quickly permeated the house. _Lovely_.

When he returned, strongly brewed cup in his hand, Remus was sitting on the couch, head bowed, shoulders slumped, staring unseeingly into the fireplace. Severus set the cup in front of him, and took his seat. There was a long moment of silence. _So, where've you been? _was far too callous a question, and yet Severus could think of nothing else to say. Finally, he sighed, leaning forward. "The Order's been looking for you."

"Yes, I know," Remus replied gruffly. His voice sounded as though he hadn't used it at all in these past months. He swallowed audibly and wrapped his hand around the coffee cup, lifting it to his lips and tentatively taking a sip, and then a longer, more needy gulp. "I should probably apologize to everyone," he continued, his voice stronger, "but I haven't the slightest clue how to go about it. I figured you were the least in need of one."

Severus snorted. "I haven't looked for you."

"Kind of what I meant."

There was another silence, as Remus continued to stare into the flames and Severus leaned back against the leather of his old seat. The logs crackled loudly. "Why… why didn't you?" Remus asked, so quietly Severus almost didn't hear.

Severus sighed, loudly this time, pinching the bridge of his nose. He leveled a look at Remus. "Because I know what it feels like," he said carefully, "to lose everything in the world that's important." Remus's eyes widened in understanding. Severus stood up, no longer desiring to continue this conversation. "I don't have a guestroom. The blanket on the back of the couch will have to do."

"That's all I need," Remus whispered. Severus began to climb the old set of stairs, but was stopped as Remus called his name, plaintively. "I know it means nothing now, so many years later, and with so many lives lost, but I'm sorry for what we did to you. You never deserved it."

Severus swallowed heavily. "Good night, Remus."

And so he went to bed, Hermione Granger no longer on his mind.

* * *

Every year, on Christmas, Hermione remembered why it was she didn't like this holiday very much. As Molly bustled around the kitchen, ordering an increasingly irritated Ginny around like a servant, and the men carried plate after plate to the dining room, she began to feel extremely claustrophobic. Finally, after Ginny accidentally spilled a plate and Molly began yelling, she excused herself quietly and quickly slipped outside.

The air was cool and tinged with frost, but snow had yet to fall. She sat on the steps at the front of the lopsided abode, breathing in deeply. It was already growing dark, and a few stars peeked out of the clear sky. She heard the door behind her open and slam shut, and seconds later Ginny plopped down next to her, dropping her head in her hands with an irritated snarl. "I hate Christmas."

Hermione laughed. "It'll be better once everyone's eating. I know I'm hungry."

"I think I just lost my appetite. I swear I will never host big parties when I'm older, Hermione. It's too much hassle."

"I don't think you'll have a choice. You're marrying the most famous wizard in the world, remember."

"Shit," Ginny lamented, leaning back against the wooden board behind her head. "Idiotic of me, really. Maybe Dean's still available."

Hermione dug her shoulder into Ginny's teasingly, and the redhead flashed her a brilliant smile. "Well," Ginny declared, nodding emphatically, "I vow to never get all worked up like this. No point to it, really. No one will care much once there's food, right?"

"Well, the men certainly won't."

They chuckled together, and Ginny stood, stretching and stepping out into the night. "It's really beautiful tonight. Cold, but beautiful."

"Yeah. Sometimes, I think the coldness highlights the beauty," Hermione agreed, coming to stand next to her friend. The two were silent for a bit, staring at the sky, darker than it had been several minutes ago when Hermione stepped out. Hermione ran through the constellations she could yet see in her head, smiling to herself.

"I don't know if you've heard," Ginny interrupted, her voice tremulous, "but they found Professor Lupin."

Hermione turned to her in shock, eyes wide. "What? When?"

"He showed up at Snape's doorstep last night. They're both coming here tonight."

Hermione froze for entirely different reasons. "Both?"

"I don't think Snape planned on it, but now that the Professor's coming…"

Hermione glanced at her feet, processing this new information. _Why didn't he tell me_? was quickly followed by _Stupid, why would he?_ She sighed, rubbing her eyes.

"You okay?"

Hermione looked up, to meet Ginny's confused frown. "Yeah, Gin. Just thinking."

"We should probably head back in. Hopefully, mum's calmed down."

"Oh, I'm sure," Hermione said consolingly, rubbing her friend's back as they headed back inside.

Warmth engulfed them as Hermione shut the door behind them, hanging her coat up on the rack. Ginny had already gone in search of her fiancé, and Hermione headed back into the kitchen to see if Mrs. Weasley needed anything else.

* * *

This was a very bad, terrible idea, Severus decided, as he stood on the porch of The Burrow, Lupin fidgeting next to him. The man still had an air of depression permeating everything within several feet of him, but he was sober, at least, and clean. Severus's clothes were too big (and too dark) for him, but it would have to do for now.

The door opened, and they were met by Harry Potter, who gazed at both of them with eyes that pierced the soul. Severus felt immediately uncomfortable by his scrutiny. This was no boy anymore. He had faced death and overcome it, watched people he loved murdered, and killed that murderer himself. His appraising look held no malice in it anymore when he looked Severus in the eye.

Harry enveloped Lupin in a tight hug. "You stupid man," he heard him say, "do you have any idea what I would have done if I'd lost you, too?"

Lupin hugged the boy back. "I'm sorry, Harry. I have no excuse for what I did."

Harry nodded, smiling. "You'd best get inside. Mrs. Weasley is raring to smother you and fatten you up."

Lupin nodded resignedly, and pushed past Harry inside. Harry turned to Severus, looking him up and down once more. "You look thin."

Severus sneered. "I've always been thin, Potter."

"Harry. I'd like for you to call me Harry, Professor."

Severus paused, letting this sink in. "Harry," he forced out thickly, fighting a strange urge to cry. Potter smiled, and then moved forward and, to Severus's great surprise, embraced him as he had Lupin.

Seconds ticked by, as Severus stood stiffly in shock, and Harry seemed not to mind. He rested his hand on Snape's shoulder, looking him in the eye. "I know you may not want to, but if you're able, I'd like to hear about my mother from you. And… I'm sorry I always treated you so poorly. I had no idea."

Snape nodded, feeling at odds with his body in that moment. "You weren't supposed to."

Potter nodded, and pushed the door open. "Might as well let Mrs. Weasley coddle you, as well."

"I am never in need of _coddling_," Severus growled, but nevertheless, he allowed it all the same.

As Molly hung up his coat, Severus moved past her incessant chatter to the family room, where most of the party had assembled in some form or another. The youngest Weasley was heading towards him, and then past him to speak to her lover. Most of the Weasley clan was seated on the couch, chatting amicably with Lupin, who was seated with Moody across from then. Alastor met Severus's eye, nodding shortly. As Severus scanned the room, nodding at Minerva and Filius, Hermione was nowhere to be found. His eyes narrowed in confusion, but at that moment, the girl stepped in from the adjoining room, to announce that dinner was ready.

The rest of the group stood, making there way past her into the dining room, but Severus stayed rooted to his spot. She was dressed casually, in a black skirt and red jumper, hair pulled back into clips again, cheeks and eyes aglow as he had imagined. Something about her set his insides to warm, though, and he fought the overwhelming urge to embrace her and bury his face in her hair. She turned, and stopped as she met his gaze. He saw her blush deeply, a smile breaking out across her face. _We'll have to work on that_, he thought amusedly, as he inclined his head. "Miss Granger."

"Professor," she replied, a teasing lilt to her voice, and then disappeared back into the dining room. He followed, noting that, somehow, the only two spots left were next to each other. _Of course_. She sat to his right, already chatting animatedly with Ron about something-or-other as the food began to pass. He found that, once again, he was far too aware of her. Everything else faded to the background when she laughed, her entire body shaking, bushy hair everywhere. When had a laugh become so sweet a sound? He could scarcely remember, and yet he found himself wishing that he were a funnier person, so that he might provoke such a sound himself.

_Idiot_, he thought acerbically.

"Severus," he heard, and turned to view Minerva, grinning at him, a scotch glass in her hand. "What are you thankful for this holiday season?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Thankful? My, Minerva, you know me better than that."

Several people chuckled lightly, and, to his surprise, he felt a small hand rest on his thigh. He avoided swallowing, though the urge was overwhelming, and he raised his own glass to his lips to hide it.

"Surely, Severus," Arthur insisted, "there must be something."

"I can hardly think of anything. I suppose I'm glad the little brats didn't manage to kill each other, though several made an attempt, most notably Potter here."

Harry shrugged as Ginny gave him a knowing look. "I won't deny it."

"You would think," Molly scolded, "after all that has happened, you would be able to forget your rivalry."

Harry laughed, and the adults looked on in surprise. "I don't expect any of you to understand," he confided. "Draco and I have no problem with each other. It's just about the normalcy of it all. We're trying to one-up each other now."

Severus fought a smile. He'd assumed as much. Hermione was frowning next to him. "That's just silly," she said. "You practically killed each other in Potions last week."

Harry shrugged. "It happens."

Severus leveled a glare on the boy. "If you do," he said, "it would save me an awful lot of consternation."

Minerva exclaimed in outrage as Harry threw back his head, laughing loudly. "I'll remember that next class, Professor."

Perhaps the boy _wasn't _a man yet after all, but Severus could hard begrudge him his fun. It was plain as day that being at Hogwarts no longer provided any joy for him. Potter was waiting to get out, to move past all this and marry Ginevra.

"Well, I, for one," Hermione declared, "am thankful for the people here today."

A silence descended, as her statement inevitably brought about a moment of reflection on the people who were not sitting around the table. Severus watched as frustration settled on her lovely features, likely regretting the statement.

"Well said, Miss Granger," he said, surprising even himself as she looked up at him in amazement. "Though we do, of course, miss those whom we lost in the dark times which preceded this day, we must always be thankful for the people sitting here with us, right now. I know I owe a great deal of thanks to all of you, and I would like to acknowledge that now."

"I think we can all thank you as well, Severus," Minerva put in quietly. "Without you-"

"No, Minerva," he cut her off, shaking his head. "I did no more than anyone else at this table, and a great deal less than some."

The hand was on his thigh again, and then slipped back until it rested near his palm. His heart began to beat ferociously, and, making a split-second decision, he felt his fingers enclose around it, and could practically feel the warmth emanating from the woman next to him as she squeezed lightly. He forced himself not to look at her, though he dearly wanted to.

* * *

When Hermione had walked into the family room to announce dinner, and had looked up to find his impenetrable gaze, she'd momentarily forgotten to breath. This was the first time she'd seen him since that night, and whereas before his breadth and power had only inspired irritation or fear, now she felt a hot flash of desire sizzle through her skin, settling like a beacon between her legs. She'd almost reached out a hand to steady herself against the sudden onslaught of pure need, but she'd managed to stay upright through sheet force of will.

She'd placed her hand on his thigh almost unconsciously, but when he'd grasped hers in his larger one, she'd been shocked and more than a little warmed. She hid her pleased smile behind her goblet of pumpkin juice, ignoring the racing of her heart.

Now, they were all once again ensconced in the other room, listening to Remus as he told them of his sad months spent alone and lost. He kept the tale short, and before he could ask for an apology, Molly cut him off, telling him they already knew, and he'd been forgiven the instant he'd set foot in the door. The rest of the room's occupants agreed, and Remus had briefly excused himself, in a failed attempt to hide how deeply moved he was by their love.

She was sitting next to him, on the old, flea-bitten couch, pressed against his side, taking comfort in his presence as Harry and Ginny good-humoredly discussed the inevitable nuptials with their curious crowd. Molly already appeared to have the entire wedding planned, and Hermione was growing increasingly amused as Ginny's frown deepened.

She was surprised when the warmth at her side abruptly dissipated. Severus stood, unfurling himself gracefully and nodding his head at the group. "I'll be taking my leave."

"I'll show you out."

It came out of her mouth before she'd had time to think, and from the sharp glare he sent her, had been a bad decision. _Subtle, Granger. He reacts positively to __**subtle**_. There was no changing it now, though, as she stood and followed him, trying to ignore the curious stare both Remus and Ginny were sending her way.

"We've invited Remus to stay here, for now, Severus."

"I am aware, Molly. Thank you."

They walked to the door, where he shrugged on his coat, not looking at her. She frowned, feeling the frustrating urge to cry as he opened the door. He stepped out, making to close it behind him, but she caught it, slipping out as well before shutting it. He turned to her, appraising her but giving nothing away. Seconds past, and she sighed audibly. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry, Miss Granger?"

"Oh, don't play that with me, Severus," she snapped. "I know very well that was stupid of me. I'll work on it."

He was silent once more, and then stepped closer to her, his eyes never leaving hers. "Say that again."

Her brows furrowed in confusion. "I'll never-"

"No, not that, woman."

Comprehension dawned, and Hermione grasped his frock coat, playing with the buttons as she gazed up at him. "Severus."

He closed the distance between them, kissing her harshly under the clear night sky. She responded with fervor, grasping the back of his head, her fingers twining into his silky hair. He pulled away, pressing his forehead against hers. "We need to work on your discretion."

"Yes, kissing outside the Weasley's home is terribly discreet," she countered.

"I'm not a fool, Hermione. No one followed us." He stepped away from her nonetheless, grasping her hands and kissing her palms before letting go. He turned to leave, and she couldn't help but reach out for him.

"Wait, I don't…" she stopped, her hand flexing where it now rested on his back. He'd paused, clearly waiting for her to finish. "I don't want you to go," she whispered, feeling insurmountably stupid.

Severus turned back to her, an unreadable look on his face. He grasped the bottom of her chin, looking at her. She avoided his eyes, until he ran a finger down her cheek. "You really don't, do you?" he said, sounded awed. "You must know I have to."

"Of course, but… but I haven't seen you since that night, and it's nearly two weeks until we go back. I think about you every night."

He sucked in air sharply, his eyes darkening slightly. "You think about me at night?"

She blushed deeply, enough that he could read it even in the shroud of the night. "Yes."

His hands grasped her waist, pulling her against him. "And what do you do then?" he murmured, his thumb tracing circles on the exposed area of skin between her shirt and trousers.

"I- I can't… Severus…" she was even redder now, and Snape felt a thrill chase throughout his body. She licked her lips nervously, and his mouth went dry. Damn, what this woman did to him. With great reluctance, he stopped tracing her skin, pressing his lips to hers again, briefly.

"I really must go."

_Don't whine_, Hermione told herself. _He called you a woman. Women don't whine._ Still, the urge was overwhelming. She wanted him more badly now than she had in his classroom. _Where did this… this __**lover **__come from_?

"You can still change your mind between now and January."

"Severus, I'm not going to-"

"Hermione," he said, dangerously, and she shut up, glaring at him impishly. "I have to say it, you know. I have to cover that base."

"But it won't happen," she insisted. "I will be at your office door on that day, and I will still want you as badly as I do right now."

Her confidence once again made him marvel. _Why, in any world, would such a person want me_? But he pushed the thought aside. He couldn't make that decision for her. He moved a curl out of her face, tucking it behind her ear, before turning around. "I'll be waiting," he said quietly, walking away, "if that's the case."

Turning on the spot, he disappeared before her eyes.

* * *

_H-_

_I wanted to give this to you yesterday, but in the face of your startling ability to drive me mad, forgot. Please do not take this as a bribe, or feel as though it alters whatever decision you might make. I remember, as a teenager, I once asked my father for cologne for Christmas. He told me plainly that someone who spent more time with books than people had no reason to desire such a thing. I imagine that, as a person whose intellect is far beyond nearly everyone whom you have ever met, you may have run into a similar problem, and wanted to assure that, as a man, I admire everything about you – both your intellect, and your more youthful charms._

_-S_

Hands trembling, Hermione slowly unwrapped the tissue paper. Inside lay two beautiful hair combs, silver set with precious stones. She leaned back heavily against the bedpost, running her hands over them. It was true that no one ever gave her anything beautiful. Books, candies perhaps, but never something like this. No one except her mother, at any rate, and despite her best intentions, she rarely picked out anything Hermione actually liked.

_But these… these are simply lovely. And he bought them. For me. _

"What are those?"

Ginny had entered the room, carrying a box, eyeing Hermione curiously. Hermione started, sitting up quickly.

"They're… nothing," she stammered, turning way from the other girl, hating her damned inability to be even somewhat cautious.

"Hermione." Ginny sounded exasperated, and she heard the redhead set the box down, and felt the dip of the bed as she sat down. "What is going on?" Ginny asked plainly. "You've been secretive and awkward all holiday."

"I can't talk about it, Ginny," Hermione said, angry beyond measure.

"We've never kept secrets from each other. I'd hate to start now."

"Well, we're going to have to. I am not kidding, Ginny. I won't share this with you."

Ginny looked unbelievably hurt, and she slowly sat up, nodded, and left the room. Hermione fingered the hairclips, sighing loudly. _It's worth it. I have to keep believing it's worth it._

She went to the dresser, setting them in the bottom half of her meager jewelry box. She stared at them for another long second, and then closed it, heading downstairs for dinner.

* * *

New Year's came and went, and they continued to send owls back and forth. She hadn't thought to get him a gift, and she still felt badly about it, but she had no idea what to get for her austere paramour. In response to her inquiry, he'd merely written, _Don't._ So, feeling somewhat baffled by the single word, she didn't.

Ginny ignored her steadily for several days after Hermione had put her foot down, and then stopped. "Fighting," she told Hermione, with a lopsided grin, "is possibly stupider than secrets. Even if I still don't understand."

They'd hugged, and now things were exactly as they once were again. Harry and Ron were still utterly oblivious to anything that might be going on, so Hermione assumed Ginny had shared the contents of that afternoon with no one. She might have a problem with subtlety, but the boys didn't even know the definition of the word.

She went home after New Year's, despite the urging of everyone in the Weasley abode, to put her parents' belongings to rest. Visiting their grave, she quietly told them of her affair, hoping they would understand, even if they were no longer there. As she shut the door to her childhood home the morning of the 4th, handing the realtor all the keys, she felt the ghosts of her past lifting off her shoulders, and promised her parents that she would be happy. She went to the café down the corner, drinking deeply of what had once felt like home, and then turned on the spot, knowing she would not be back for many years.

Ginny, Harry, and Ron were already at Platform 9 ¾ when she arrived, talking far too loudly. As they boarded the Hogwarts Express, she tried to quell the rising tide of anticipation in the pit of her stomach.

The Scottish countryside flew past, covered in white and looking as beautiful as she'd ever seen it. She breathed in the air deeply, unable to concentrate on anything but the mantra in her head.

Tonight. _Tonight_.

* * *

A/N: As always, please review. Reviews let me know that people are reading this, and provide motivation like I can't even describe.

The next chapter will undoubtedly have to be re-written for this particular site, due to its idiotic Ratings rules. I have yet to secure a beta, which I wish to do before publishing this on other the Petulant Poetess or Ashwinder; if anyone is interested, please let me know. Beyond these two chapters, there will likely be only 2 or so more unless a plot bunny bites me before then, which I do not see happening. As promised in the previous chapter, I will provide the link to the other sites once this is uploaded there.

Thank you for your patronage! What is an author, after all, without readers?


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Yeah, I know. It's been years. I wish I had a good excuse. I completed my last few years of college, graduated in April, got a job in China, moved to China, and officially started teaching about a month ago. I've been meaning to keep writing _Viscin_ for a very long time. I wrote most of this chapter a while back, and then my computer crashed, the chapter disappeared, and I never went back to it until I found it on an old flash drive back in January. I have a lot more free time at this job than I expected, and one of the first things I did was finish and fix this chapter. I'm sorry for the ridiculously long wait. I hope the chapter lives up to expectations. I don't think this story is over yet, but there should only, at most, be one or two more chapters to give it a good ending, I think. Thank you for your patience.

* * *

"Hermione?"

The brunette jolted into awareness, judging from the frown on Ron's face that this wasn't the first time he'd said her name. She forced off a blush, sitting up straighter and smiling. "Yes, Ron?"

"We're going to visit Hagrid tonight," Harry said slowly, staring at Hermione shrewdly. "Are you coming?"

"I don't think so," she said. "Tomorrow's the first day and I want to look through our upcoming coursework." Hermione felt both pleased and guilty at how steady her voice was.

Ron rolled his eyes as Harry frowned. "You can't be serious," Harry objected. "We haven't seen Hagrid in weeks!"

"I'll come next time," Hermione said gently. "Tonight's out of the question though."

Ron sighed, continuing to dig into his meal. Harry followed suite, looking angry. Hermione tried to ignore them, forcing another bite of lamb down her throat. She had no appetite for shepherd's pie. She could barely eat; the anxiety was driving her mad.

Suddenly she became very warm and knew instinctively that Snape was watching her. Casually she turned around, as though lazily surveying the room, dragging her eyes slowly across until she met his. She had to stifle a gasp; his black eyes were absolutely piercing. He stared at her unblinkingly, still as the night, unaware of anything else around him. Hermione suddenly found it quite difficult to breathe. She turned back to her food, a thrill of anticipation mixing in with the anxiety.

"I'm not terribly hungry tonight," she said truthfully. "I think I'll head out. See you guys in the morning."

"Night," Ron mumbled to Hermione around his mouthful of food. Harry said nothing. Hermione got up and slipped out of the Great Hall.

She barely noticed anything as she made her way to Gryffindor Tower, her anxieties swelling into an almost blindness. She was ten feet down the wrong corridor before she noticed her mistake and backtracked, thankful that everyone else was still in the Great Hall. When she finally reached the portrait hole she panicked before she remembered the correct password. Hermione collapsed into a chair once inside, trying to calm down. There was no way this was going to happen if she was this stressed out already.

Hermione found herself immensely thankful for her private room, climbing the stairs to the very top and lowering the wards. The door clicked shut behind her. She sat on the edge of the bed, breathing in and out slowly.

This was a moment in her life she had never anticipated sitting through. She'd always imagined that something like tonight would occur spontaneously. The plunge would feel natural, inevitable, and she would take it gladly. Well, that last part was true, but to have planned it ahead of time like this made it much more momentous and daunting than she would have liked.

As she approached her dresser drawer her resolve faltered temporarily. She had _no _idea what to wear for this occasion. She cursed her lack of foresight. Certainly a private purchase of some lingerie would have been a good idea, or at least something other than the normal plain, cotton underthings she wore. She couldn't very well wear the only nice set she had, the one she'd worn when she'd tried to seduce him last month, could she? She fervently wished, for a moment, that she could consult Ginny on this matter.

Hermione paused.

Why couldn't she? She could insist on the identity of her paramour remaining secret, imply that it was a Slytherin (true), someone they would not approve of (true), and that she would rather it all remained a secret until school was let out (definitely true). In that case, she wouldn't even have to lie. Much.

But Ginny was crafty. There was no one in the school to whom it would be stupider to give the beginnings of a gossip without the middle or end.

Hermione sighed. That idea was shot, then. She leafed through her collection of underwear, cringing mentally. She had choices of white, beige, and other neutral colors that weren't the least bit sexy, plus the one set he'd already seen, which just seemed like a terrible idea to her for reasons she couldn't actually explain. _What if he thinks I only own one pair of underthings?_

She pushed it all aside, and there in the back was a black set, similarly plain but at least the color was much better. She'd had to buy it when attending the myriad funerals at the end of last summer. The thought momentarily depressed her, but she ignored it, laying out the set out on her bed before pausing.

What to wear on top?

Again, she moaned internally, placing her head in her hands. _Why was this so hard_?

Okay. Okay, she was smart. She could do this. Obviously nothing too conspicuous; she would have to walk through the halls wearing this ensemble, after all. A skirt would be a good idea, but not her school outfit. That was probably the worst choice she could make. That set some very specific parameters. Feeling more confident, she went to her closet, leafing through its meager offerings. She had a black skirt which went to her knees; she could easily shorten it, just a little. And there, a red top, not the sexiest of its kind but of good material.

She dressed slowly in front of the mirror, determinedly telling herself the good things about her body as she did so. Her stomach was flat, but not too much. Lavender's body had always been razor-thin; the girl practically starved herself and she looked younger than her years because of it. Hermione had never understood Lavender's obsession with her weight. No, Hermione had some curves, enough to, hopefully, keep any thoughts of her age firmly out of Severus's mind. Her breasts were of decent size, not huge like Millicent's or barely-there like Ginny's. For the first time that night, Hermione stood, fully dressed, feeling rather confident in herself. It was ridiculous that she had sat there and gone through so many insecurities earlier. If Severus had made anything clear it was that he desired her, and she wasn't going to contradict him on the matter. If it was true, then why should she worry about it?

She slipped on her flats, put on her cloak, grabbed her wand, and left the room, warding it again behind her. She was about to push the portrait open to the hallway when she heard her name being called. Ginny was standing behind her, brows furrowed. Hermione fought to quell her panic.

"Where are you going?"

"Library," she lied easily. "I want to look through the coursework for tomorrow. I may go use the Prefect's bathroom at some point," she added. Giving one definitive location was a sure way to get caught. "It might be good to try to relax before my last semester starts."

Ginny nodded. "The boys seem to be mad."

Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes. "Of course they are. I'm not just going to follow them everywhere, though. They know I love Hagrid; I just want some me time tonight."

"Perfectly understood," Ginny said with a grin. "I'd do the same if I weren't dating one of them. How late do you think you'll be gone?"

Hermione shrugged. "Probably late. I really have no idea. Not having a curfew is wonderful sometimes."

"I'll bet," Ginny commented wryly. "Well, enjoy yourself. Hey - I'm debating doing a private Transfiguration project for McGonagall this semester, but I wanted to have several options before I brought it to her; can you look through them with me tomorrow?"

"Oh, of course! That sounds wonderful."

Ginny laughed. "Oh, Hermione, never change. I'll see you tomorrow."

"You two, Gin," Hermione agreed, happy that Ginny seemed to have completely forgiven her. With a smile on her face, she finally stepped out of Gryffindor Tower, and into the night.

* * *

The clock chimed 7 and she wasn't there yet. Snape was beside himself with anxiety. _She's not coming. All those promises, all those moments, and she's not coming. I am a complete fool._

He'd paced around the room, marked some essays angrily, sent Edward away, and debated drinking his entire firewhiskey stash before it occurred to him that drunken was not the way he had planned to spend tonight. And now he sat by the fire, sulking, glaring at the flames as though they had personally offended him. _She's not coming._

And then, like blessed water in a drought, his wards detected her presence.

He was up in a flash, rushing out of his private quarters and through the door to his office and his classroom beyond. She was just closing the door behind her when he appeared, stopping abruptly in his tracks. She whirled around as he arrived, her eyes meeting his across the classroom, a blush settling beautifully on her cheeks.

"Hermione," he breathed, and her answering smile set his heart pounding.

"Severus," she agreed, sliding her cloak off her shoulders, and he sucked in a breath, surprised to see her in a black-and-red ensemble which accented everything right about her figure. She walked to him with that same smile on her face. When she reached him she laid her palm against his face, eyes sparkling.

"You seem calm," he commented, unable to hide his surprise.

Hermione chuckled. "I had a good moment on the way here. I'm sorry I took so long. Female insecurities, I'm afraid."

He grasped her around the waist, pulling her close. "I can hardly see why you'd need those," he whispered silkily, and finally kissed her as he'd been waiting to do all night. It was tender, one of the few tender kisses he'd had in life. She responded just as sweetly, lacing her arms around his neck and pressing her lithe form into his. As she pulled away, he heard her sigh softly, and place her head by his neck.

"Thank you," she acknowledged, and he quietly murmured affirmation, running his hand lightly down her back.

"Shall we retire to the bedroom?" he whispered. She tensed, pulling back to look at him in wonder before once again smiling.

"Yes," she agreed, eyes shining, and he felt a jolt go through him as he led her backwards, through his office and into his quarters beyond.

Hermione had always wondered, long before this thing had started, about Severus Snape's quarters. Now that she was in them, walking through them, she barely had time to take them in, dark as they were. Books were everywhere, with shelves of them lining the walls, stacks of them on every available surface, and several of them open on the stand by a comfortable-looking chair. In contrasts, the kitchen was spotless, and the bathroom, for the few seconds they moved past it, was lined in tile, and beautiful. Seconds later, they were stopped in front of a door, and the butterflies of earlier returned in full force as he opened it. Turning to her, grasping her hand gently, he led her into the darkened room beyond, his eyes positively shining.

"The light-"

"No," she interrupted, immediately, and she heard him chuckle as he closed the door. Moonlight streamed in from a window, and she could see faint outlines of the man in front of her. He stepped closer to her, pulling her into an embrace.

"What if I wish to see you?" he whispered into her ear.

"I'd really rather you didn't," she confessed, breathing in his scent.

"I won't protest," he continued, "but I must admit, my dear, that I have dreamed of tracing my tongue along your curves as I drink in the visage of your beauty. I've pondered running my hands along the seams of your body, noting with eyes, lips, and hands the places that make you gasp. I've longed for the image of your face as you said my name, to warm me in the coldest nights when the heat of your body is far-"

"Dear God, Severus," she protested, clasping a hand over his mouth, "please, put the lights on. I don't think I can take any more."

He laughed then, and with a roar the fireplace was lit, the sconces on the wall flared to life, and the room was bathed in a subtle glow. She raised her eyebrows.

"Do you normally light your room this way?"

He smirked. "Only on special occasions."

"Mmm," she hummed. "And this is a special occasion, is it?"

He nosed her hair by her left temple. "Yes," he whispered, kissing above her left eye. "It certainly is." His lips found her forehead, her nose, the corner of her mouth, and then she turned her head until their lips met. Mouths open, his hands tightened around her waist, and the fire in the room settled itself in their bellies to begin a subtle roar.

She moaned into his kiss, and he deepened it, pulling her flush against him. Her arms slid up his chest to wind around his neck, and she arched her back, giving herself into the sensations. He pulled her shirt lose from the skirt, sliding his hands underneath to meet the warm skin of her back.

He left off her mouth to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses along her neck, down to her collarbone, where he encountered the shirt he had liked so much until this exact moment. "Off," he murmured, tugging up, and she lifted her hands obligingly.

The cool air hit her skin, and a delicate flush settled itself along her cheekbones and upper chest. She barely had time to be embarrassed, as he pulled her back to him, tongues engaging in that age-old duel. He stroked along the roof of her mouth, and she rewarded him with a shiver before she bit gently on his lower lip, and he groaned.

"Hermione," he said throatily, and bent his head to plant heavy kisses along the tops of her breasts. She gasped, loudly, eyes sliding closed. His hands reached behind her back to fumble with the clasp. She looked down at the top of his head, slightly amused, and witnessed the rare sight of color beginning to stain his cheeks.

"For future reference," he muttered, "you are forbidden to wear one of these in my presence."

She giggled, and he relaxed. "Yes, sir," she murmured.

The clasp finally came undone, and he stepped back, his hands trailing down her arms. She smiled, realizing he was leaving the choice with her, and she slid the straps down her arms and let the garment slide to the floor. To her surprise, his eyes remained focused on her face, and he cupped her chin with his right hand, stroking the soft skin there before leaning in to capture her mouth again. She hummed happily. His hands stroked her hips, first, then the soft skin of her belly, his thumb dipping into her navel before stroking upward to finally cup the undersides of her breasts. She gasped, a sound he swallowed with his mouth, gripping onto his shoulders as her cupped her full breasts with his whole hands. "You are so beautiful," he told her, kissing down the side of her face, then her shoulder, before licking around her right areola and pulling her taut nipple into his waiting mouth.

Her hands fisted deeply into his hair as she felt her knees go weak. Lightening shivered down her body from where his lips latched onto her breast, pooling molten between her legs. She gasped his name, and he kissed her between breasts before switching to her left. Her world began to narrow to just them, in this beautifully lit room far away from the hectic banality of everyday Hogwarts. She had a desperate desire to feel his skin that intensified with every moment he suckled at her.

She let go of his hair to find the top button of his frock. "Off," she whispered, echoing him earlier, as she began to undo the (many, many, too many) buttons. He chuckled around her skin, before sucking one more time and pulling back to help her divest him of his clothing.

The frock coat came off first, eventually, followed by his undershirt, and then there was only his pale, pale skin, stretched taut across lean muscle, peppered with many scars of varying sizes. She assaulted him immediately, lips and tongue tracing those lines, and was rewarded by his strangled, surprised intake of breath. Her lips found his nipples, flatter and wider than hers, and caused him to moan deliciously.

"Bed," he said, in a voice that brokered no argument (an argument she never would have given, anyway). She grinned as he took her arm, pulling her with him to the side of the plain but comfortable-looking bed.

They kissed, deeply, and his hands found the zipper of her skirt, sliding it down and pushing her skirt and underwear down together. She shimmied out of them, kicking them aside as she worked on the clasps of his pants. Once similarly divested, his hands slipped under her ass, lifting her smoothly to the bed. She scooted back to the head of it, expecting him to follow her, but he stayed where he was, staring at her nakedness hungrily, his eyes expressing his admiration better than words ever could. A few tense seconds later, he knelt on the bed, and then slowly crawled to her until he was situated between her legs, looking up at her. She reached up to trace the line of his jaw, before pulling him to her for a sweetly searing kiss.

He balanced on his left forearm, his right tracing the inside of his thigh before, finally, cupping her mound gently. He dipped one long finger inside, spreading the proof of her desire up to circle the taut bundle of nerves at the top. She moaned breathlessly into his mouth as he played with her, breaking the kiss to lean her head back, eyes fluttering closed. He kissed down her body, slowly, taking special care to dip his tongue into her navel. She giggled, then, before he continued down further. A sense of wonder – and insecurity – spread through her as she realized what he was doing.

"Severus," she began, but stopped as he planted a love bite on the inside of her thigh. "Severus," she repeated, her voice throatier, "you don't… you really don't have to-"

"Oh yes I do," he interrupted. "I've been looking forward to this for a long time."

Her eyes widened in surprise, then rolled back in her head with the first lick of his tongue across her clitoris. She collapsed back into the pillow, her right hand reaching up to try to find purchase behind her as he licked her folds.

All of this was new to her, from the moment she'd entered the bedroom, but _this_, this particular act… she'd read about it but never imagined what it would actually _feel_ like. She hadn't known that the touch of his tongue to her most private area would send spikes of pleasure so intense she could barely _breathe _throughout her body, flooding her with sensation. Her voice rose, higher and higher, moans that she would never have believed came from her if she'd heard them. Her body tensed in surprise, in uncertainty, as he continued, and no matter how many times she came close to _something_, she never quite reached the precipice. The third time she approached it, she sobbed with frustration as it ebbed away.

He lifted up, wiping his mouth on the bedcovers discreetly, pulling up next to her. "You have to _relax_, Hermione," he whispered, running a soft, warm hand down her flank. She shivered, leaning into him.

"I don't know _how_," she replied, piteously. "I've never…" she paused, looking at him underneath her eyelashes.

"I know," he said, kissing her forehead. "You're so tense. Take deep breaths. Tell me what doesn't feel right."

His hand stroked lazily, now, back to her center and began to run slowly around her clit again. Her thighs tensed automatically, and his mouth found the curve of her neck. "_Relax_," he repeated, and she took a breath, as he'd requested, and let her legs fall apart again on the exhale.

The sensations started again. His fingers remained slow, this time, almost lazy, and she felt the fire burning hotter than before. "A little lower," she murmured, and he moved his finger down incrementally. Suddenly the flames fanned out, and she gasped, loudly.

"Stay relaxed," he warned. She looked at him, found his eyes so close to hers, smoldering. "Don't fight it," he murmured, moving his lips to her left temple.

The precipice was there, and this time she could feel it coming. He didn't speed up, his finger still drawing slow circles around the circumference of her clitoris, and suddenly she was there, and her breath left her in one low, keening cry as her body lifted off the bed. His mouth crashed over hers, swallowing her gasping breaths as it happened. He continued to stroke her, pumping his finger against that spot, drawing the fire down slowly until the embers remained, waiting.

"Oh my God," she whispered into the skin of his neck when coherency returned, and he chuckled. She opened her eyes, and blushed deeply at the self-satisfied smirk on his face.

"You did well," he said, and his eyes made her feel so warm. So she kissed him, again. He wrapped his arms around her, both on their sides, and pulled her tightly into him, kissing her deeply. She could taste something musky on him, something new, and realized with a faint hint of disgust that it was _her_. But when his tongue stroked against hers again, and he lifted her leg across his hip, that thought faded. She could feel his engorged penis brush against the top of her labia, and suddenly she was light-headed again.

"I want you," she told him, her arms around his shoulders.

"Yes," he said, rolling her onto her back. "Relax," he repeated, again, as a sudden uncertainty welled up in her. "Just relax your legs." He pressed warm kisses to her neck and shoulders as he positioned himself, and thrust, shallowly, then deeper, slowly stretching her.

It felt so alien, and she had to keep breathing, her eyes squeezed shut, as her body struggled to adjust.

"Fuck, Hermione," he breathed in her ear, and the harsh words sent an ache to her belly that helped her body settle more into the bed sheets as she smiled.

Finally, he was fully in, filling her entirely. It still felt odd. She'd read about it, expected that, but as he began to move she was still disappointed that it didn't yet feel good the way she knew it was supposed to. She opened her eyes, and stared in wonder at the enraptured, nearly pained looked on his face as he stroked inside her with his cock.

"God," he hissed. "Hermione, I'm not… I won't last long."

She stroked his face with her hand, a delicate, happy feeling washing over her. _She_ was making him feel this way. She'd never felt a power like this before. "It's fine, Severus," she whispered, pressing a sweet kiss to his mouth. "I want to see you."

His hips jerked sporadically, and he emitted a high groan, a vulnerable sound that unexpectedly made her heart ache in her chest. She pulled his head down to her chest as he breathed, as he came down from his high, and pressed kisses to the top of his forehead. He weighed her down. She felt weightless.

Eventually, he regained enough strength to pull away from her, roll off and on to his side, and she turned with him, grimacing slightly at the feel of the result of their lovemaking sliding down her thighs. She hadn't thought to grab a towel, not… not this first time.

His eyes opened, and he looked at her in awe, his hand coming up to brush her sweat-soaked curls, rattier than usual in the aftermath, off her face. "I'll be right back," he whispered, before he stood and walked haphazardly out of the room, his usually impeccable motor skills diminished slightly in the way of his orgasm. She smiled and felt her whole body relax into the softness of his bed.

Her eyes opened again as the mattress dipped down, and she realized she drifted off for a second. The smirk on his face told her he noticed. He maneuvered her legs to clean her with a warm cloth, and she was surprised by the gentleness of his touch. The normally acerbic Potions Master was nowhere to be found.

A whisper from him, his hand over the bed sheets, and she felt them dry under her as he reached up to pull the covers down. "Get under," he ordered, and she groaned as she lifted her tired body to move underneath the covers. It was worth it when he joined her, and his hands around her waist pulled her close to him. She rested her head on his shoulder, humming appreciatively.

"How long can you stay?" he asked.

She chuckled. "Until Ginny notices I'm gone. I have no idea."

Severus grumbled something intelligible, and she giggled again. His eyes met hers, dancing merrily. "I really don't care if she notices I'm gone, Severus," she admitted.

He frowned. "I told you before, I-"

"Let's not right now," she amended. "I'm sorry I said it. We can talk about that in the morning. I just want to stay in your bed for now."

His face softened again, and though he said nothing, the lights winked out. "Turn around," he said, and she did, fitting herself flush against him. His legs twined with hers, and she had never felt safer.

She was asleep instantly.

* * *

She awoke in the night. They'd shifted. He was on his back, her head on his stomach. She could feel him breath, and she closed her eyes to absorb the sensation. She wasn't sure how she got in the position. She sat up slowly, finding that the harsh planes of his face, even in sleep, were not that altered. A giddy bubble of happiness rose through her. She was a lover. She had a lover.

She lay there a while, listening to him breathe, trying to absorb this new feeling. She didn't really feel _that_ different. She was still her. But still, this emotion bursting in her chest was brand new, an adult perception of the fumbling pseudo-idea that had formed between her and Ron before. It was better. It was so much better.

Eventually, she slid out the other end of the bed, careful not to wake him, and went to his study. She lit a couple sconces and walked to and fro past the bookshelves, absorbing the titles she hoped he'd let her read, noting a couple she was certain he wouldn't (yet). He was as broadly read as she, his library speaking to the same insatiable curiosity about everything academic. She noted with an amused smile that he had exactly one volume on Divination, and it wasn't a particularly flattering title.

"Leaving so soon?"

He said it in a drawl. She turned, clutching the dressing gown she'd stolen from his bathroom tighter. He raised a single eyebrow, and she blushed. "I couldn't sleep," she admitted.

He leaned against the doorjamb, his black eyes glittering in the lamplight. "And you wanted time to decide which books of mine to steal?"

She laughed. "I barely know where to begin," she confessed. "You have so many I've been dying to read."

He strode into the room, his eyes scanning his shelves before selecting one thin volume. "Your favorite subject _is _Arithmancy, right?" he asked, smirking.

She gasped as she read the cover. "I thought… how did you get a copy of this?"

"Old family heirloom. It was my mother's."

She clutched it to her chest, beaming at him. He felt his heart swell and he stepped closer, pressing a kiss to the top of her forehead. "You really _should_ go back to your room," he whispered. She was surprised to hear regret in his tone. She sighed, leaning into his broad chest.

"I know. Consequences be damned, though, I really don't want to."

"You can say that right now, but I know you, Hermione. You don't want to get caught here."

She sighed again, pulling away. "Fine. I'll go change. But we need to plan out how I can stay the night on occasion, for the future," she called as she meandered sleepily to his bathroom.

He watched her go, trying to fit the odd, warm swell inside his chest with a feeling he understood. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt like this, and he tried to push it down, but when she re-emerged minutes later, her hair done up in a slight ponytail, tired but still bright-eyed, it swelled outward again, threatening to burst free from his chest like a living thing, and he found himself enfolding her into his arms.

"Be careful," he whispered, as he walked her out to his classroom, and then up to the door.

"I'm always careful," she teased, and leaned up to press a sweet, closed-mouthed kiss to him, before turning and heading up the stairs. He watched her go, hands clasped behind his back, and found that, despite his full effort, he could not stop the smile that forced its way, unnaturally, across his mouth. And he realized, with a start, and a brief feeling of fear, that the feeling he didn't recognize was happiness. He was happy.

* * *

A/N: Please review! Thank you for reading :)


	4. Chapter 4

Hermione sighed in frustration, and Severus stopped, breathing to maintain control, as he leaned down to kiss her open mouth. "It's okay, Hermione," he reminded her, rocking slightly into her. "It's not like romance books. Everything doesn't come together immediately."

"I really wish I knew what I was doing wrong," she confessed, and his heart clenched at her vulnerability. He pulled out of her, cock still hard and willing, and lay next to her to run a soothing hand down her arm.

"You're thinking too much," he said, pressing a kiss to her temple. "It'll never happen if you don't relax and just _feel _it."

"I don't know how!" she spluttered, and rolled out of his bed, her face red, to pace next to it. He watched her, his cock deflating at the angry look on her face. He tried to roll his hips away, but she noticed, and her face fell. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said, hands coming up to cover her face in mortification.

"No, stop," he commanded, using his best teacher's voice, reaching out to pull her back onto the bed. "You need to stop thinking there's something wrong with you. We've gotten your body to work many times, haven't we?" he purred, dragging his lips down the side of her face to her earlobe. "Just not in this particular way. Coming on a cock isn't instantaneous, Hermione."

She went bright red, but nodded. He swept some of her hair off her face. "Get on your hands and knees," he said, scooting back. She looked up at him in surprise.

"What?"

"Hands and knees, Hermione," he said, lifting one eyebrow. "When one thing doesn't work…"

She nodded, her face still red, and slowly climbed onto her hands and knees, facing away from him.

"Close your eyes," he whispered, reaching out with one hand to stroke the soft skin of her ass. She murmured quietly, head falling down as he continued to stroke along her skin, occasionally reaching forward to stroke along her swollen folds, not as wet now as they had been earlier.

He gathered residual wetness on his fingertips, stroking upward to slowly circle her clit as he leaned forward to press a kiss between her shoulder blades. She hummed happily. "That feels nice."

He smirked. Snape wasn't a perfect lover by any means, but he was pretty confident in this by this point, the seventh time they'd made love on his bed in the bowels of the school. From their first time together he had been able to get her off this way, stroking his hands along her body, using his mouth – but she had yet to come when he was inside her, and with each passing time, with each failure, her confidence was waning.

He could feel her wetness returning as he moved his hand slowly, rubbing his fingers in a slow circle on that tight bundle of nerves. She moaned breathlessly, and his cock hardened fully once more at the sound.

"You're beautiful like this," he whispered, pressing wet, smacking kisses to her spine. "I could spend the rest of my life with you on my bed, naked."

She giggled, a sound that cut off into another long moan as he inserted one long, thin digit into her passage. The mixture of the two sounds was amazing, he thought, inserting a second finger slowly.

"Move your hips with me," he murmured, and she did slowly. He could see sweat beading on her forehead now, her eyes closed in concentration.

"I can see you thinking," he accused, and she blushed deeply, eyes opening.

"I've never been any good at shutting off my brain," she admitted.

"I know," he said with a chuckle. "Come here," he added, leaning back and pulling her onto his lap. Pushing her long hair aside, he wiped his fingers off on his bedclothes and then placed both hands on her shoulders, beginning to slowly knead. Slowly, as he worked his way down her body, pressing into her shoulder blades, then her vertebrae, she melted against him with small hums of contentment, until, eventually, she was like jelly in his arms, a happy smile on her face. He tilted her head slowly back, kissing her sweetly. The kiss deepened quickly, as his tongue was granted access to the concaves of her mouth. She shuddered against him, and he dropped his hand between their bodies to find her hot and fully wet again for him.

His left arm ran up and down her arm, his mouth remained latched to her, and she moved slightly against his right fingers as he stroked her expertly. It only took a few minutes to have her writhing against his hand, small pockets of air and whimpers escaping around the confines of his desperate kiss.

"Up," he said, grasping her hips and helping her back into position. His right hand grasped her hip, still sticky with her residue, as he positioned his cock at her entrance and pushed forward. He felt her body try to tense again, and he let go of himself to run a soothing hand up her back. "Beautiful," he repeated. He'd always loved this particular angle, watching his cock disappear into a willing woman.

Seven times in a little over two weeks. His stamina had rebounded with every encounter. Now he began to move in and out of her slowly, pulling nearly all the way out before pushing back in.

A moan escaped her lips, and her head swam with pleasure and the slow realization that this felt _so _different. Unused to this position, her body kept wanting to tense up in ways it couldn't from this angle. The angle of the penetration let her feel every part of his cock as it worked in and out of her at that infuriatingly slow pace.

"Move with me," he reminded her, grasping her hips again. He pulled and pushed her into a rhythm. She had been embarrassed at first, still was, that the rhythm that all those stupid romance books Lavender read had invariably described as 'natural' and 'as old as time itself' didn't actually come to her as naturally as she'd expected. But he was patient. He was _so_ patient with her, and she felt a happy warmth move through her limbs as her gratefulness finally allowed her to relax fully into his strokes.

He felt the difference the moment it occurred, and he grinned before he began to move at a faster pace. "Good?" he asked gruffly.

"Mmm-hmmm," she responded, moving with him more easily now, feeling a pleasant tingling begin in her center and begin to furrow outwards at a steady pace. He angled his hips slightly upward, and suddenly _something_ was happening. Each stroke left her gasping, her hands digging into the comforter below, strangled moans beginning to leave her throat at a rapidly increasing pace.

"That's it, Hermione," he said, leaning forward. He dropped one hand from her hips to slip to the front of her, stroking along her clit.

The tendrils exploded outward, and she cried something that sounded like his name as her body wracked with wave after wave. The sound pulled him quickly toward his own release, and with a few more urgent thrusts he spent himself inside her body, groaning into her shoulder.

She collapsed onto the bed as his softening cock slid out of her, and he moved onto his side, trailing a hand along her pale shoulder as she fought to catch her breath. Suddenly, she began to laugh, joyous peals of laughter erupting from her throat. Her watery eyes met his, positively dancing, and she used the energy she had left to launch herself across the short space and into his arms, barely caring that her knee landed in the wet spot as she peppered his face with kisses.

"That was _so good_," she said delightedly. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," she said into his chest, kissing him wetly with each word. He laughed, too, unable to help himself when confronted with her pure joy at her success.

They lay there a while, as her euphoria faded into a happy contentment, until he stood to get his wand to clean the bedclothes. She joined him in the shower moments later. Afterwards, they moved to his study, where she sat and devoured the latest book from his collection as he marked his students' terrible papers.

* * *

Two months into their affair, Hermione began to take increasing charge of their assignations. The day she pushed him onto his back and slid onto him provided images he had a hard time getting out of his head at inopportune moments, leading to several panicky moments in staff meetings and during class. If the students noticed that their cynical Potions Master spent a little more time behind his desk than usual, no one mentioned anything.

The day she walked into his bedroom, dropped her bag to the floor, and slid to her knees in front of him with a wicked grin on her face warmed him on the nights she couldn't come. The time she breathlessly asked him if they could have sex in the shower made it difficult to step back into his bathroom without being assaulted by memories of her moans echoing beautifully off the tile.

But his favorite memory, the one that filled him with pride and brought a smile to his face even when Minerva was droning on about night watches and continued structural damage, was when she strode into his office in April between classes, her eyes bright and shining, to hand a piece of paper to him.

"Oxford," she said, trembling. "Full scholarship, Severus!"

He folded her into his arms in that short space of time they had, memorizing the feel of her, her breathless, excited laughter in that moment. His girl was brilliant.

* * *

A/N: To hermionefan29, who posted a huge number of guest reviews with questions that I could not respond to because they were guest reviews, here is my opinion. Yes, Hermione was a virgin in Chapter 3. Contrary to what fanfiction and romance novels would have you believe, every single woman has a different experience with her first time. Sometimes there is blood, sometimes there is not. Sometimes it is painful, sometimes it is uncomfortable (which is was in this case). It depends upon the woman. And yes, she didn't come 50 times and have mind-blowing sex the first time. This was a conscious decision on my part. I love fanfiction, but it drives me up the wall a lot of the times because it creates completely unrealistic expectations (as do romance novels). Having an orgasm when you lose your virginity is not very likely. For some lucky girls, yeah, it might happen. For me, it did not. For all of my female friends, when we have spoken about this, it did not. The female orgasm is much harder to achieve, when you start out, than the male orgasm, unfortunately, and I really hate that all these fics and novels give the impression that it's so _easy._ Hermione's experiences with sex in Chapters 3 and 4 mirror my own. It wasn't easy for me, and after years of reading fanfiction and novels that talked about 'the dance as old as time' and that things were supposed to be very easy and natural, I felt very self-conscious that that all turned out not to be true for me. I didn't immediately figure out the 'rhythm as old as time' in sex, I didn't immediately enjoy myself completely, I didn't immediately orgasm during intercourse (or even the first two dozen or so times). Sex is dirty, imperfect, and can be absolutely beautiful sometimes. Sometimes, it's not.

Sorry about the dissertation, to everyone else!


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